


say you love me

by alongwinter



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, F/M, Love Letters, Medical Procedures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-08 13:23:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17387171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alongwinter/pseuds/alongwinter
Summary: You’re a doctor who finds Bucky bleeding out in an alleyway. You take him home to stitch him up, and get way more than you asked for.





	1. Chapter 1

The sounds of a quiet small town night kept you company as you walked home, your scarf tucked closely to your neck. The darkness was eerily quiet this time of year, the cold forcing the cicadas out like unwelcomed guests, the cricket’s chirps no longer welcome in the night. It was nice, in comparison to the hustle of the emergency room at the hospital. The patients you saw mostly consisted of older folk with a curious case of hypochondria. At any given moment, they would think they were breathing their dying breath. It was tiring, trying to explain to a person who was fit as a fiddle that they weren’t falling apart at the seams, especially when they were hell bent on the topic. This was a retirement town, fading away as time passed on. What you, one of the most brilliant doctors in decades, were doing here was beyond anyone’s comprehension. You wanted to save the world, to take care of people who couldn’t take care of themselves. When you pushed yourself to the limit during your bachelor’s degree and got into John Hopkins for medical school, you told yourself this was it; this was your time to shine. Now, however, you had no idea what path you were going down.

Wind whipped your hair around your face, your shoulders hunching slightly to block out the harsh weather. Your gloved hands shoved further into your pockets, you sighed into the night, ready to just get home and rest. As you took a deep breath, a grunt sounded from the alley between Jamison’s Grocery and the old bowling alley. The crunching of your shoes on the ice nearly blocked out the sound, but the quiet surrounding you was too comfortable not to notice. You stopped walking, tilting your head slightly as you listened for noises. Another grunt, followed by a groan, sounded out as you pinpointed where it came from. You slipped the gloves off your hands and you ran toward it, hoping no one was in trouble. Your footsteps slowed as you ducked between the brick wall of one of the buildings and the large dumpster, gasping as you saw what the problem was.

The man was breathing heavily, his hand pressed against his side as he tried to control his body’s reactions. Noticeably pressing harder, he sucked in a breath between his teeth, his already busted lip trickling more blood. His thick jacket was drenched in red on his left side, making your blood run cold. The cut on his face showed as he looked toward the dark sky in agony. You started to walk closer to him, your feet crunching in the ice. Finally hearing you, his eyes widened as he stared into yours, rolling his body up with precision as he took a defensive stance. Your hands came up automatically, crouching slightly as your eyes widened.

“I’m not going to hurt you, I promise,” You spoke slowly and deliberately, as if you were speaking to a feral animal, “I work at the hospital, I’m a doctor.”

He made no move to change his position, staring into your eyes with a burning anger. His eyes flashed briefly with fear, making you take a quick breath. You reuttered your words, “I promise” as you looked down, taking a more submissive approach. This man was well on his way to the local cemetery if you didn’t stop the bleeding soon. The thought made your heart race as he moved a fraction, his hand twitching at his side, wanting to move to cover his wound. You looked up again, standing slowly from your crouched position. As you did, his shoulders hunkered down, ready to attack, your hands once again coming up nonthreateningly.

“Please let me help you, we need to stop that bleeding soon.”

He evaluated you for a moment, scrutinizing your every twitch before nodding his head once in conformation. His body relaxed only a fraction as he stood, wobbling on his feet slightly before looking at the ground. You sighed gratefully, stepping closer to him. His frame stiffened again as you came closer, your hands reaching up to unwind the scarf from your neck. Looking up at him, you smiled slightly before handing it to him.

“Press this against your wound to help stop it. It’s not really sanitary, but it’s all I have right now. We need to get you somewhere where there are medical supplies, preferably a hospital.”

His head shook quickly in defiance, making you sigh. He looked up at you, his eyes pleading. It was odd, seeing such a large man look so scared of someone so small in comparison. Your eyes softened as you took in the fraction of vulnerability, before his eyes hardened once again. He looked back toward the ground, missing as you nodded absentmindedly, already taken by him.

“Alright, we won’t go to a hospital,” His eyes shot up to yours, grateful. “Is my house okay? I live a couple blocks up the road. I have supplies there I can use, yes?”

He stared at you for a moment before nodding slowly, pressing the scarf hard against his side harder. You smiled happily, moving to his right side to help him move. He leaned on you, watching you stumble a bit as you worked to handle his weight. He eased up a bit, realizing he was hurting you before grunting and continuing out of the alley.

The pair of you walked home, sticking to the shadows and dark corners as you moved. He paused every so often, catching his weakening breath and surveying his surroundings. His eyes scanned the empty roads with precision, considering every inch before slinging his arm over your shoulders and motioning you to continue forward.

It was odd when you noticed the immediate trust he placed in you, the stranger who claimed to be a doctor. You could have been lying, you noted, but you didn’t question it further. You focused on helping him as he stopped again, coughing quietly as you waited patiently.

“It’s beautiful out tonight,” You started, groaning inwardly as you considered how much of an idiot you were. This man was practically dying, yet here you were, trying to make small talk.

He hummed lowly in reply, shifting his weight as he held him arm out to you again. You slipped under it, and walked home in an almost comfortable silence.

When you finally made it to your front door, you sighed, motioning for the man to lean against the wall as you fished your keys out of your purse. As you riffled through your things, your neighbor, Mrs. Callaghan came outside. You put on a smile as she stepped out, waving at you. You waved back, keys in hand, as she grabbed the paper from early this morning. Door unlocked, you turned toward the man, but he was gone. Frowning slightly, you glanced around, trying to find him. Sighing, you opened the door and walked in, moving to set your bag on the counter before turning to go back and find him.

You jumped as you entered the kitchen, finding him sitting at your table, hands still pressed to his side.

“I don’t want to know how you did that,” you murmured, running to your sink to get your supplies from the cabinet underneath. Looking back at him, he motioned toward the window that was now open. Rolling your eyes to yourself, you grabbed your gauze, tape, and stitching thread before moving toward him. He eyed the supplies warily as you set them down, moving to grab an emergency stash of saline to clean the wound.

You sat down in front of him, grasping the scarf and looking at him for permission. He nodded as you moved it away, pulling up his shirt and clipping it up and away from the injury. His breathing intensified as you used the cloth to clean around the cut, dabbing the dried blood to get it wet again before swiping it away gently. Once he was relatively clean, you grabbed the thread and began your work. With each poke of the needle and tightening of the thread, he didn’t dare move. It was odd to you, how his breathing remained normal and not even the slightest response came from him. You were used to patients flopping and squirming around the table, cowering away from the needle like children do during flu shots.

Humming quietly to yourself, you pushed his behavior away and focused on the final stitches. Grabbing the last pink tube, you squirted the saline on the completely stitched wound before patting it down with a paper towel. You surveyed your work before nodding to yourself. Looking up, you found him watching you. A curious and almost fond expression covered his face before it vanished, the hard blank look returning.

“You’ll need a new shirt, this one could cause problems as the wound heals.”

He looked down, frowning slightly before you spoke again, “I have some that will fit you. Just stay here, please?”

The man scrutinized you for a moment before nodding once, shifting his weight in the chair as you got up and walked to your closet. Riffling through the clothes a moment, you found the shirt you were looking for and tossed it over your shoulder.

Walking back into the room, you tried to make as much noise as possible. You didn’t want to startle him, as he seemed so jumpy before. When you entered back into the kitchen, he was in the same position. You smiled slightly as he picked at the hem of his sleeve, looking very innocent and docile. It was like whip lash, how fast his reactions and moods would change within the small amount of time you spent with him. He was suffering, that much was obvious. From what, exactly, you were unsure, but your caretaker instincts were screaming at you to help him.

He looked up as you frowned, handing him the shirt as you tried to think of something else to give him. He stood suddenly, his shirt coming up over his head gently to replace it with the one you gave him. Your jaw dropped discreetly as you watched him for a moment. You squeaked, turning around to give him some privacy.

He cleared his throat as you spun back around, lip between your teeth. The man had the decency to look sheepish, brushing his hair behind his ear.

You smiled softly before your eyes widened, “You should shower! I’ll grab you a towel.”

He cocked his head at you, eyes clouding over before you nodded to yourself.

“I’ll be right back, promise.”

You walked back to your bathroom, shutting the door behind you quickly. Reaching into the cabinet to grab a towel, you exited back. You stopped by your guest room to grab the clothes your brother left when he was here, tossing them over your forearm as you hurried into the kitchen.

“I’m not sure if these will fit, but I think they might…work…”

Your voice trailed off as you looked around. The man had disappeared from the kitchen, prompting you to walk around the house a bit to find him. Coming up empty, you cursed under your breath.

Maybe you came off too strong, you wondered to yourself as you flung the clothes over the back of your couch. You always were a nurturer.

You trotted dully back into the dining room, turning off lights as you went up to bed, figuring you’d be over it in the morning.

The next morning, you rubbed your eyes at the light before heading downstairs. The night before was still on your mind, running over what you could have done differently to help the mysterious man more.

You opened the refrigerator door, grabbing the milk before shutting it and gasping. There was a sticky note on the icemaker, the same kind you used for the memos on your calendar.

_Thank you._

You looked around, searching for something out of place. It was odd, the note not being here when you went to sleep the night before. You figured it was from the man, sighing to yourself. You noticed the pack of sticky notes and a pen sitting on the counter top. You eyed it carefully, considering writing him a note back. Scoffing at yourself, you felt foolish. Why would he come back? Especially in your home, since that was breaking and entering, and you doubted he’d commit a crime for a measly note. Contemplating for a moment, you considered it was worth a shot. If he didn’t see it, or didn’t reply, you could wallow in your embarrassment later.

_You’re welcome, are you hungry? What can I call you? I keep referring to you as “the man” in my head. Seems rude to do so._

The day passed as quick as it could, a sense of being watched sending shivers up your spine all afternoon. It increased when you took your break, walking to lunch at the bistro around the corner. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up, but when you turned around there was no one there. You ate your lunch in peace, analyzing the feeling. It was more of a guardian aura, rather than a threat. You pushed it off, thinking it was nothing.

When you walked through the door and into your home, you walked into the kitchen, setting your bag down on the counter. Looking at the fridge, you noticed a different colored sticky note atop yours. You gasped quietly, walking toward the metal door and pealing it off.

_Yes. My name is James._

Catching yourself smiling at the note, your expression faltered as you considered what was happening. Your mind told you to be alarmed, since you locked all the doors on your way out this morning, and somehow this James person still got in your house. It was frightening, but your heart and gut were telling you to not be alarmed, that he wasn’t a threat to you.

You decided to stay a little cautious, but your caring side took over. You moved to make dinner, throwing extra ingredients in the pan to make extra for James. Once it was ready, you made your plate and a separate one for him. Setting it in the microwave, you left a note on the fridge telling him where it was before eating and heading to bed.

_Thank you for the food. My ma used to make me beet soup, it wasn’t very good. We were poor, so we took what we got. I like your dinners, but hers still remind me of home._

_James x_

You smile at the note the next day, your stomach flopping like a middle schooler with a crush. You rolled your eyes at yourself, making two breakfasts before leaving one on the counter. You picked up the pen, grabbing the writing pad before placing the bottom against your lip. Placing the pen on the paper, you wrote him another note, ending it in a question about his life.

When you returned home, still feeling watched, you found an answer waiting for you along with a question of his own. This process went back and forth for weeks, your affections growing stronger and out of your control. Chastising yourself daily, you promised yourself to stop before seeing his blocked letters stuck to your cabinet when you came home. It was like all your inhibitions and worries disappeared as you read them, which you hadn’t felt in years. It was nice, but you knew you were playing with fire.

Today when you came home, you were surprised to see an actual letter attached to your fridge, its front labelled ‘Read Me’ in James’ writing. You peeled it off, careful of the tape attached to it before opening it quickly.

_I can’t keep eating your food and using your life as a support system for mine. Not unless you know, really know who I am. Before I do, I need you to know that I’d never hurt you. You’re too kind and too damn generous to be anywhere near me, but if you decide to let me stick around and keep feeding me, you need to know. Just hear me out. Promise me that._

Your brow furrows in confusion before you grab your pen, writing your reply.

_I promise._

When you wake up the next morning, another letter is attached in the same spot. This one is heavier, worrying you slightly. You flip it around to the back, reading ‘I’m sorry’ on the back. You frown to yourself, ripping it open quickly. You move to sit at the counter, reading it slowly.

_You ever heard of the Boogeyman? Your ma probably told it to you as a kid, or you heard it in the school yard. Scary man hides under your bed, ready to attack and kill you if you don’t go to sleep on time. Or something of the sort, anything to get you to listen to what they’re saying. You’d scrunch up in the middle of your mattress, knees against your chest as you tried to stay away from the edges, away from anywhere he can reach. It scared you, yeah? As a kid, it was terrifying to think something was after you for just not listening. It helped your parents, sure, but you didn’t sleep normal until you were at least ten, sometimes older than that._

_My name is Sargent James Buchanan Barnes. You have your history books, you know about the train, falling and Steve’s dumbass crashing a plane into the ocean and waking up 70 years later. You’re a smart girl, sweetheart. You know your history. But what you don’t know is I didn’t die. It felt like I was, looking at the bright of the snow around me. Thought I got into heaven somehow, but I was still kicking, screaming out at nothing in a valley of the Alps. Some of those damn Nazi’s musta heard me, or they followed me, I’m still not sure. They took me to their base, and the rest is kind of fuzzy. They hooked me up in a chair and turned my head into an ocean of unknown. I didn’t know my name, or who I was as a person. I still don’t, sugar, but I’m tryin’. I woke up with a damn metal arm that can punch through anything, strength rivaling the Gods, and a giant question mark on my brain._

_They turned me into the boogieman, doll. I scared adults and kids into the submission of Hydra, thinking I was on the right side of history. My brain was mushed by the electrical currents, I didn’t know any better. But I did it, I hid under their beds and followed them home from work. I killed them in front of their children and then turned on them. I was the story Russian and German parents told their children at night, a ghost lingering in their shadows. They got over the fear, just as you did. But they always went back to their fetal positions and their crying when I showed up in the dark. I’m a monster, babydoll, and I don’t deserve your kindness. Not anymore._

You read on, it detailing what happened with the helicarriers, and Steve. He saw himself as a monster, but all you saw was a strong man that needed someone to show him all the goodness the world had to offer. He detailed when he met you, about the Hydra agent following him and trying to take him out before you got there, how you were his saving grace. You cried harder as you reached for your pen once again, writing furiously.

_You were a prisoner of war. In many ways, you still are. Seventy years is a very long time to be locked in a cage, and in many other ways, you will be a prisoner for a long time. There’s no other way to say it. You’re a victim, James, just like the rest of us. In every nightmare that was completed, there were two victims. You’re the second. I can’t fault you for that. I can, however, feed you dinner and leave you towels for my shower. I can treat you with a kindness you should have gotten seventy years ago in the snow. If I’m honest, which I try to be as much as possible, I care about you. More than probably acceptable in your eyes, and your mentality. You deserve so much softness, James, after such a harsh life. I want to give you that tranquility. Give you that second chance. Let me do that._

_P.S. – I hear Steve eats a lot. Why didn’t you ask me for more food, you goof? I’ve been practically starving you._

As you finished, dropping the pen, you let out a sob. You cried for James, for the man used to be.

* * *

You were optimistically miserable tonight, a weird combination of emotions overwhelming you. You hadn’t received a letter or a note in a couple days, and you were worried. You knew now, what Bucky truly consisted of, and the amount of vengeful people after him was making you nervous, yet you had faith that he would make it out alive. You were still naïve to most of the situation, but you knew the gist of it. You were hopeful.

You hadn’t felt watched in a while, which added to your nerves, but you took the opportunity to slip out of your jeans, walking around in just your sleep shirt. You fixed yourself a glass of wine and turned on some music, dancing slightly to the jazzy sound as you cooked dinner. The vegetables sizzled in the pan as you sipped. The atmosphere was calm as you pranced between cabinets, looking for spices and herbs to add to the dish.

You search was halted as you heard a knock at the door. Your head tilted in confusion not expecting anyone. It couldn’t be Bucky, considering you hadn’t seen him since the first night. He’d be more likely to climb through the window. You sighed out, grabbing your pants off the back of one of the dining chairs and slipping them on. Parts of your shirt was tucked in, but you shrugged, moving quickly to the door.

Opening it, your brow furrowed in confusion. The porch was empty. You stepped out onto the concrete, glancing from side to side suspiciously before shrugging, turning to go back inside. Once you were in and the lock was back in place, you spun around, only to jump and shriek in surprise. Standing before you was James. He was looking at you intently, his scruff grown into a full beard and hair knotted in sections visible under his cap. You gaped at him, mouth closing as he stepped closer to you. Your composure returned as his arms opened wide, the distance between you decreasing. Smiling softly, your arms opened as well as you attached yourself to his torso.

Arms wrapped around each other, he pulled back slowly before pushing you back a bit. He handed you a letter once again, smiling softly at you as you looked at him curiously. He gestured with his shoulder to the letter, looking at it expectantly as he sat down. You laughed quietly. Nodding, you opened it quickly.

_This’ll have to be my last letter for a while. Possibly ever, honestly. There was a bombing at the Accords conference in Vienna, and they’re blaming it on me. I wasn’t even in the damn country, but those greasy bastards got my picture plastered on every major news outlet worldwide._

_A king died, darlin’. It’s weighing on my shoulders like a ton’a rocks, along with every other damn thing I’ve done. I know what you’ll say, so don’t even bother. It was still my body, my hands drenched in their blood. I didn’t have any part’n this, and I feel just as bad as the bastard that did._

_They’re comin’ for me, sweetheart. So I have’ta hide. Maybe I’ll go somewhere warm, like the beaches in Brazil. You know how I am with the cold. I don’t want to leave you, don’t want to walk away from what we’ve created here, what you’ve brought back from the dead. But I have to, there’s nothing I can do to stop it. This force that’s coming for me, it’s bigger than all of us. My ma used to say, “Bucky, God’s gonna strike you down one day.” It was always a joke then, a big “ha-ha” in the face of the stupid shit I’d say or do, just a quick reminder to be on my best behavior. But I think she was right, in a way. God’s coming for me, doll. He’s gonna rip me apart and leave me to the wolves. I’ll let him, too. I’ll be ripped apart for the rest of eternity, like Prometheus all over again. But this time, he has a right to. I didn’t bring light to humankind, I brought darkness, and pain. I rained bullets like hellfire. I get it now._

_You, though, you bring light. You’re that ethereal being that shines every time they walk into a room. You lit parts of me on fire with your bright, and I’ll never be able to thank you for that. I can’t tell you how many times I almost did it and my mind went straight to you. God, sweetheart, I care about you more than I deserve. I think I’m in love with you. That ain’t ever gonna change._

_Please forgive me._

_James x_

“Stay,” you pleaded, your voice breaking out over the silence. You folded the letter quickly, tossing it on the table next to you before running your hands over your hair. His eyes turned to you quickly, analyzing your face, as you kept rambling. “Y-you can stay here, with me. We can get you a job somewhere in town, a-and you never have to leave. We can sleep in different beds if you want, and we can be happy. You can actually talk to me for once. Or you can stay quiet, I don’t care,” Your hands tossed up in the air.

You let out a shaky laugh that sounded more like a sob, your hands running through you hair as you took a deep breath. “I love you. And you’ve never said my fucking name. I-I mean, that’s ridiculous right? I’m in love with you, and you’ve never spoken to me. Maybe that’s naïve and I’m in way over my head, but I picked you from the second you walked into my door and bled all over my floors. I love you, in that stupidly cheesy and domestic way where I want to patch you up and have sex with you all the time and cook dinner together. I want to have kids with you, and that’s fucking terrifying!”

His eyes were wide as he watched you, his fingers digging into his palm to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. Your feet started moving of their own accord, marching their way closer and closer to him until you landed in front of his chair, sliding yourself down and into his lap. He tensed as you wrapped your arms around his neck, relaxing as your hands ran through his hair at the base of his neck.

“Stay with me. We can move, if you want to. I don’t care, I love you,” You said, laughing shakily as his hands came up to wipe the tears from under your eyes. He cupped your jaw softly, leaning forward as he looked into your eyes to make sure this was what you wanted. You nodded softly, shocked, as he crossed the distance and connected your lips. You closed your eyes, hands grasping his hair tighter as you held him close.

Neither one of you wanted to let go, but he felt the need to as he pulled back, laying a delicate kiss on your forehead before whispering, “I can’t. Stay.”

His voice was gravely and deep from lack of use for so long, such a beautiful sound that send your heart fluttering and dropping through the floorboards simultaneously.

He whispered your name as you slid off his lap, trying to make yourself look less like a fool. Wiping your eyes and straightening your blouse, you push his arm off of you as he tries to hold you.

“I’m fine, I understand,” You mumble, flashing a brief smile at him before looking down again, “It’s okay.”

“It really ain’t,” he says, voice louder than before.

“It is, really, they need you out there.” He scoffs at that, running his fingers through his hair. “It’s true! Steve needs you, obviously. It’s fine, I’ll be fine.”

“No,” He started, getting cut off by your rambling again.

You fiddled with the hem of your sleeve as you spoke, “Yeah, it’s true. I’ll be fine. You go out and try to figure it all out. I’m being selfish, I know it. You don’t need to tell me.”

“That’s not what—“

“It is, I know it. I’m acting like a damn teenager. I’ll get over it, I promise. Do you need me to pack you anything extra? I’ll be fine. I probably just made this so much harder on you, I just can’t believe I could –“

“Will you shut up for two seconds and let me speak?” He said, voice growing louder as he finished his question. Your eyes widened as he yelled, nodding absentmindedly in shock.

“Finally,” he sighed, “I’m worried.”

“I’ll be fine,” you croaked out like a broken record.

“Yeah, yeah, I know ya will. But I won’t be! They needin’ me out there, but I need you. Don’tcha see that? After everything these past couple of months, you really can’t see that.” He says, growing upset at your closed off demeanor. The anger, previously ignored, bubbled up in your stomach and clawed its way to the surface, spewing words out of your mouth like venom.

“Is that so? Because I reckon that when you need someone, you usually stick around.” You hiss, whipping around to face him front on.

“The fuckin’ government is comin’ after me! All of ‘em, the whole god damn world is tryna lock me up n’ throw away the key! I ain’t putting you in harm’s way just ‘cause I care about you! This is for your own protection; everything that I’ve done is for your protection.” He yells, hands thrown up in the air.

“Well did you do it?” You ask.

“You know I didn’t.” His eyes grow cold as he backs up from you.

You step closer to him, hands wrapping around his forearm as you stop him from grabbing his jacket and disappearing into thin air. “Then tell them that! Tell them you’re innocent, they’ll have to listen.”

He sighs, pulling your hands away from his arm and wrapping them in his. “Sweetheart, the things I’ve done, they don’t have’ta listen to a word I say. They’ll kill me on the spot n’the world will cheer in victory, do you understand that? I ain’t a prisoner of war with a severe case’a shellshock to ‘em, I’m a spy, n’a murderer, n’a damn traitor. Jesus H. Christ, babygirl,” He whispers, pulling you closer to him, “they can’t all be like you, no matter how much I wish they were.”

You sniffled into his chest, fresh tears following as you nodded. You didn’t like it, not at all, but you understood it.

“Just promise me something, please.” You asked, resting your chin on his chest as you looked up at him.

“Anythin’.”

“When it’s all done with, when your name is cleared and the world sees you as the war-hero you truly are, come back home. To me. And stay.”

He nodded quickly, leaning down to kiss you again. His hand slid up your side, gripping your hip before moving up further and into your hair. Grasping your hand that was still in his, he pulled you impossibly closer. He wanted to hold you like this forever, so lost in each other that outside problems weren’t an issue. He melted into you, his body practically draped over yours before pulling back, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips one last time before stepping away. He shook his head softly, squeezing your connected hands.

“I have to go,” He whispered.

“Wait, now?” You asked, your eyes widening.

“Yeah, sweetheart. I shouldn’t’a even came back, but I didn’t wan’a do that to you. You deserve more than that.”

He dropped one of his hands, “If I touch you any more I’ll end up staying, and that ain’t’a good thing for you.” You nodded, dropping your other hand from his and stepping back a bit.

He grabbed his backpack from behind your couch, strapping it to his chest as he sighed. He looked around the room idly. He watched the way the ceiling fan creaked back and forth from the speed, the way your shoes were piled up by the door, the way your books were ordered on the shelf. He took in every detail he could of the place, trying to commit it to memory before turning to look at your face. Bucky stared at you for a long while, before closing his eyes and breathing in. A soft smile graced your face as you watched him, wanting nothing more than to kiss him breathless again. But you knew it was a moot point, and kept your distance.

He nodded once, mostly to himself before walking to the door. He stopped briefly at your side, kissing your temple and whispering, “I’ll be home soon, babe.”

You whispered back, “I love you.” Still staring at the spot where he once stood, you flinched slightly as the door clicked shut behind him. You took a deep breath, inhaling shakily as you tried to count to ten. You made it to eight before letting it out, counting again. Only making it to five this time, your breathing picked up even more before you let out a horrendous sob. His last words replayed in your head like a mantra, and would for the months to come.

 _I’ll be home soon_.


	2. Chapter 2

You knew it was stupid, being this hung up over a man you’d technically met only twice. Nevertheless, something about him latched onto your heart like a leech. He’d done nothing wrong, not really, but it felt like he was unfairly ripped away from you so quickly, leaving a gaping hole in your heart. You couldn’t handle the absence, the yearning to feel watched again. It sounded irrational, but the inability to understand the longing for his invisible presence in your life was eating you alive. You have never felt this attached before, never had the need in your core to coexist with someone. It was against your nature as a solely independent person, a flaw in your otherwise stable life.

The hospital gave you a couple days off after you called in, faking the flu with a lousy cough. They believed you, however. They gave you a week, which was up today. You still lacked motivation to move, your cocoon of blankets being your only company. Bowls piled up along the table, evidence of your push to make yourself eat. The food hadn’t settled well in your stomach, most of the kitchenware remaining half full.

Taking a glance around the room, you sighed to yourself. The house was a mess, which you knew would inevitably add to your stress after your cheerful return tomorrow. You stood, legs buckling to support you after so long, and moved slowly toward the kitchen.

It was difficult standing in here, looking at your table like James would appear at any second, carrying flowers and his scruff grown into a full beard.

“I’m home, doll,” you could hear him saying, his voice echoing in your mind. Your heart clenched as you sniffled, bending below the cabinet to grab the trash bags and get started on the cleaning.

And clean you did. When you weren’t working at the hospital, you cleaned and scrubbed until your floors shined. The tedious and time consuming act kept you out of bed and away from greasy take-out, a small uplift into your spirits. Days passed, your extra money that wasn’t being used on food for James turned toward fancy bleach infused cleaners and dusters than bent easier than normal ones. Your hands started to peel from the wipes you used, the bleach a harsh smell against your skin.

Your patients made note of the product’s smell on your clothes, saying that you smelled like a hospital more than the actual hospital did. It pulled a fake laugh out of you every time, and a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes as you asked them what the problem was today.

People were noticing the change in your behavior, especially when the news broke that they’d found him. Your TV was already on the news channel, used as background noise when you heard it. They said his name like a trigger, making time freeze as your mind came to a stop. Your hand froze on the coffee table, your head moving slowly as you looked up. The helicopter from above showed the scene perfectly. Your beautiful boy, standing next to his best friend as guns pointed at them threateningly. You gasped as he was shoved to the ground, his head tilting to look up at the helicopter before being pushed back into the concrete harshly. The official pulled him up by his cuffs, his body tossed into the back of a military vehicle. Your hands shook around the spray bottle in your hand. You sat it down, collapsing on the couch. You counted your breathing again, trying to remember that he was an innocent man with a lot of good friends to help him. You tried to remember that running into the situation would make it worse for him, make it difficult for his life to be spared.

You were just a small town doctor, what could you do? Sure, you had the brains to be anything you wanted, but with a small resume like yours, no one would believe you if you told them he was a good man. They’d tell you that you’re crazy, that you are just as insane as he is. They’d say the fumes from the local chemical plants were getting to your head.

They’d throw you both in the dark and toss away the key.

It’s not like you could walk into whatever highly guarded government facility he was in and break him out with your bare hands. You had no superpowers, had nothing to offer him as help. The anger you felt at the entire situation was boiling in your veins like lava, clawing up your throat like Hades himself was going to come out.

You stewed over it for a couple days, your low tolerance for this much anger caused you to snap at patients who were most definitely certain they had cancer, when it was really seasonal allergies. You quite literally growled at your favorite coworker when he laid his hand on your bicep, asking if you were okay. The list kept growing longer and longer, people shutting themselves off from you and steering out of your way as you marched down the hallway on the heart floor.

Your boss saw you, reaching a hand out to grab your attention as she finished up whatever was being said to the RN at the desk. You sighed, stopping to talk to her.

She turned to you, eyebrows furrowed, “Is everything okay? You’ve been really out of it lately.”

“I’m fine,” you replied abruptly. Your gaze focused on the ceiling as you forced yourself not to roll your eyes.

“Are you sure, sweetheart? You look like you haven’t slept in days,” She commented, rubbing your shoulder soothingly.

“Honestly, I just wish everyone would leave me the fuck alone,” you said, shoving away from her hand. “I’m fine, damnit! I want you guys to quit asking.”

Your boss just looked at you in surprise, your eyes widening as you realized what you just did. The desk nurse watched you with wide eyes as well before wheeling her chair backwards slowly, waiting for your boss to rip you apart. Your breathing picked up as you whispered, “Please don’t fire me.”

She lifted an eyebrow, motioning for you to follow her into her office. You did, your head hanging a bit lower than normal. You were ready to be thoroughly kicked out on your ass, especially after that scene. Your mind was racing as you envisioned the scenario in your mind. If you lose this job, you obviously lose money. That means no food. After the food goes, the house obviously goes. Then you’re out on the streets, just like Bucky was.

_Bucky._

He wouldn’t want you to be like this. He’d want you to be living like normal, pushing through obstacles like you always have. Tears gleamed in your eyes at the thought of him as you sat down, clearing your throat awkwardly as she sat in front of you. You hastily wiped them away before making eye contact, adjusting yourself to sit up straighter.

“Be honest with me,” she began, her face stern and cold, “What is going on with you?”

“I’m going through some personal things right now,” you replied professionally, leaning forward slightly.

“What kind of personal things? Because honestly, that was completely uncalled for and I’m obligated to fire you.” Her hands flew up in the air slightly, “Hell, I could revoke your medical license for the complaints I’ve been getting. Do you understand that?”

“I do,” your voice broke, “I truly do. That was terribly unprofessional of me. But, I ask you not to. I will fix my behavior accordingly.”

“No, you won’t, but you will take time off to fix whatever ‘personal things’ you’re going through. You’re a damn good doctor, and I can’t lose that, not now. I won’t fire you, but disrespect anyone else in this building like that again and I will write a letter to the board. Understand?”

You nodded quickly, choking out an affirmation before standing. She stood as well, nodding once as her pager went off.

“Now get out of here,” she said, smiling at you.

You tried to grin back, the motion coming out strained as she left you. You breathed a shaky sigh of relief before an idea hit you. Eyes widening, you took off toward the lockers to grab your bag and head home. 

_Dear Mr. Stark,_

You looked at the paper, shaking your head before crumpling it up and throwing it in the recycling bin. Grabbing another, you started again.

_Tony Stark,_

_I’m writing today to tell you that Mr. Barnes was innocent. I’m his secret lover._

You chuckled humorlessly to yourself. Tossing the paper once again, you sighed. This was actually the stupidest idea you’d ever had. Head falling into your hands, you snorted to yourself. You were being ridiculous, honestly. Standing quickly, you headed to the kitchen to fix a glass of wine.

Every time you wrote to Bucky before, it was never with such self-loathing, such doubt. You just poured your heart into a pen and onto the paper, no doubts or cares about how ridiculous you sounded, no second guessing yourself. You took a sip of your wine, looking down at the crumpled papers around you, then to the blank notepad on the table. Maybe that’s what you have to do here, just let your inhibitions go and let the pen fly. Sitting down, you grabbed the pad and your pen, taking a deep breath before starting.

_Anthony Stark,_

_I know you don’t know who I am, but please, listen. I’m just a mediocre town doctor with an education too big for the small place I work in. I have no real background of politics or philanthropy. I’m just the person who stumbled upon a man, bleeding out, in an alleyway while being chased by armed guards. I didn’t ask for that, I don’t think anyone in their right mind would. But, I did stop to help. And it was the greatest thing I’ve ever done for myself._

_James Barnes is a guilt stricken man. It eats away at him until nothing is left but the shell of who he was supposed to be. I think you understand that, in a sense. I’m not naive to the things he’s done, the people he’s killed. I know about Howard, and your mother. I have never been more sorry, more sympathetic._

_That’s not what you need, though, is it? Sadness and denial seeped away a long time ago for you, replaced by an anger so deep and terrifying it scares you. I understand that anger. I empathize with that pain. All I ask, is that you do the same to his. I’m not telling you how to live your life, or go about your grief. I am asking, however, that you listen, with more than just that anger and hatred. Turn it into something else. That’s all anyone could ever request._

You wrote your heart out, poured all that was left of you into those seven pages, word after word of pure adoration for Bucky and heartfelt understanding. It was a plea for someone more influential than yourself to help. Not used to pleading for help, you channeled the love you had for him, hoping that would get Stark’s attention.

Going as far as to attach copies of your letters from Bucky, not willing to part with the originals, you folded up the note and put a stamp on what was left of your heart, sending it straight to New York, and hopefully, Pepper Potts desk before leading straight to Tony.

The hope in your chest lasted a week. As the days passed, it’s fire dwindled bit by bit, finally succumbing to the elements surrounding it. As the heat in your heart died out, a cold and bitter chill stood in its spot, traveling through your veins and into your limbs. Your wardrobe wasn’t prepared for the blizzard in your muscles, leaving you trembling and sickly in its wake. When you returned to work, the cardigans and sweaters were a useless means for warmth as you trudged from one room to the next, trying to hide the shake in your fingers from your patients as you flipped through their charts.

“Mrs. Palmer,” you started, squinting at the writing from the nurse that came before you, “Your surgery looks to be scheduled in a couple hours to get those nasty bits out of you, and I went ahead and made sure it was Dr. Joyner working on you since I know how much you like her. How does that sound?”

The elderly woman smiled at you, “Sounds good, doctor. Has my husband been by yet?”

“Not yet, ma’am, but I’ll be sure to have the nurse send him back when he gets here. I have no doubt he’ll make it on time,” you smiled at her softly. “The anesthesiologist will be here shortly to go over some last minute things, but do you need anything else while I’m here?”

“No, sweetheart, I’m quite alright. Just finish up your rounds and go home, you look dog tired.”

You grimaced slightly, “Will do, Mrs. Palmer. Call the nurse if you need anything, alright? I’ll be back tomorrow to check on you.”

She waved as you walked out, sighing to yourself. Looking at the schedule and needs for your next patient, you grabbed your supplies and headed there quickly. You were ready to get off work, to return to your home where you could wrap yourself in four separate blankets without judgment. It was like your new paradise.

“Well, you look like shit,” A familiar voice said as you entered the room. Your eyes widened as you stared at the door, pushing it closed hesitantly. Hearing the lock click into place, you turned around, jaw open slightly in awe.

“Anthony Stark?” You whispered, seeing the man himself sitting on the hospital bed, eyes looking uncomfortable behind his smirk as he looked around the room.

“Tony, please. Nice work-digs you got here,” Tony said, picking up one of the unused heart monitors, sticking and unsticking it to his fingers.

“Thank you. Not that I’m not thrilled to see you, but what are you doing here?”

“I got your letter,” Tony said, setting down the monitor after it started beeping, “And I think we need to have a chat.”

The nerves in your stomach grew. You knew you probably overstepped a million and one different lines with that letter, bringing up his parents and his emotions in a difficult time. Who gave you the right, you thought, to project your insecurities and fears onto him. You gnashed your jaw, closing your eyes briefly before looking at him. Starting to feel guilty, you opened your mouth to reply before he held up his hand to stop whatever was going to come out.

“You were right, are right.”

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t act so shocked. I can be wrong once in awhile,” he smirked at you.

You ran your hands through your hair out of sheer frustration, “No, I just. I’m sorry, I wasn’t ready for this, I’m so.”

“Calm down, kid. Just let me speak, and then you can speak, and we’ll call it a conversation. You better pay attention, too, cause I’m only going to say this once.”

You smiled slightly, rolling your eyes as you took a deep breath. Motioning for him to continue, he nodded once. He cleared his throat, gathering the words as the silence lingered for a few moments.

“You were right, about the anger. I think I was more upset that it was a secret, than anything. I, I think. I was angry at Frozone too, but not like Steve. Nothing like Steve. I just picked him as an outlet. I get torture. I do, I understand it. Seventy years of it, not so much. But I think I had enough of a taste to at least have sympathy for the guy. There were a thousand different people in my life, all of them knowing this huge secret and none of them said a damn word. It’s unfair, and it pisses me the fuck off, honestly.

“But I want to help him, I remember being in that fucking cave every night and wishing someone would help but I’d never had anyone like that in my life before. Rhodes came for me, sure, but how was he supposed to help with the damn battery attached to my chest? I never had anyone but Pepper, and I fucked that up, so I had to be that someone for myself. Maybe I can be his helpful someone too. Am I sorry I did what I did? Absolutely not. I won’t apologize for that.”

“You shouldn’t have to,” you whispered.

Wiping the tears from your cheeks, you nodded. You bit your lip, just looking at him for a moment. How, you wondered, a man raised on such privilege could be so broken beyond the obvious astounded you for some reason. It wasn’t anything other than you expected, but the look in his eyes as he retold his harshest moments was soul clenching.

“This is where you say something more back,” he chuckled, eyes vulnerable and nervous.

“I want to be his helpful someone too,” you croaked out, clearing your throat slightly, “He has no idea what he’s done for me in such a short time, I want to do the same for him. I just don’t know what to do.”

“You cure him, you get those words out of his head so he can’t do anything without his consent and choice. You put him in therapy, you work through it. You be his support system, you hold him above water when he just wants to drown. Got that?”

You smiled at him, “Are we really doing this? Are we really going to save his life?”

“There’s a problem with the ‘we.’ I can’t help him, not legally anyway. Not with the Accords.”

Your smile fell. A million thoughts were running through your head, none of them good. You’ve failed him, and now you were going to lose him forever.

“But you can,” He said, pointing at you.

“What do you mean?”

“You have the credentials, you have the brains,” His hands reached in front of him as if he was going to grab your face before his fists clenched, “You have so much potential. Let me help you, and in turn, help him.”

You opened your mouth a couple times, before finally deciding on a question, “Help me? Help me how?”

“Come work for me, at Stark Industries. You’ll have everything you could ever want, and you can use my resources to help him. Hell, if you find a cure, I’ll fly you to Wakanda myself.”

“What do you get out of this?”

He threw his hands up slightly, “Why does everyone assume I always want to get something out of being nice?”

“Whoa,” you held your hands up slightly, “That is not what I meant. You’re giving me all of these things, all of this freedom, what are you getting from me? I want to help you, too.”

Tony blinked for a moment, “We’ll figure something out.”

“This is a lot, I’m going to need time. I have to get things settled here, get a place in New York. I’ll try to do it as quickly as possible, but I have to pick up my life here.”

He chuckled, almost sheepishly, “Yeah, well, all of that’s already taken care of.”

“What does that mean?” You narrowed your eyes at him.

“Someone may or may not have already talked to your supervisor, hired movers, and gotten you an apartment the same size as your current place.”

You blinked at him owlishly, “Were you that certain that I would come with you?”

Looking at you softly, he finally rose from the bed. Walking toward you, he grasped your hands in his and squeezed your fingers, “If you had seen the amount of love you have for him in just a couple of letters and a plea for help, you would be certain too.”

Later, as you watched the movers load up their trucks and take off down the highway, you recalled your goodbyes at the hospital, the patients and other almost friends from the town all sad to see you go. Tony had found a replacement doctor to fill your position quickly, smoothing out your transition from the hospital, whom you then showed around the facility and gave her the run down on the policies and patient typical behaviors. Waving goodbye to your neighbor, Mrs. Callaghan, Tony smiled from the doorway.

“Ready to go, kid?”

You looked around once more before nodding, sending a few more glances around your old yard before turning to look at him, “Let’s go.”

And so you did. The apartment he’d gotten you was in his building, the exact measurements of your old place, just as promised. You were in awe of the city, settling in nicely there and in the company more than you originally thought. It was as if you were supposed to be there, supposed to live your life here improving others. The feeling of fate having her way settled in your bones with a deep comfort.

The only problem, however, was the cure. You spent hours upon hours, pulling long nights looking at brain scans and gathering information. You focused on the little red book, parts of it missing and unintelligible. It was difficult, but it’s all you had to go on, especially knowing your time was short and fleeting. Pepper complained it was like having two Stark’s in the place, with the way you pressured yourself and spent hours on the same daunting task. You laughed hollowly, your emotions dampened again from your recurring failures.  

That is, until the dream.

It was just another night of research for you, another night spent translating and analyzing documents, finding their connections and their answers until you worked yourself to exhaustion, falling asleep with papers littered in Russian and German alike attached to your face.

The vision was hazy around you, your eyes focused enough to see shapes, but just out of reach of the details. You could see his large form in front of you, his muscles straining even through the lukewarm sight. You could almost smell him, the same scent of pine and firewood and Bucky surrounded your body, the scent almost knocking you down. It had been so long, such an uphill battle since the last time you’d felt this.

“Bucky?” Your voice was broken, almost choppy as you tried reaching out to touch him, the space between your bodies doubling, tripling, before being slammed against his chest like a rubber band.

The pain echoed across your skin before disappearing.

“What’s wrong, darlin’?” He asked, hand coming up to brush your hair out of your face, the strands turning to water and drifting toward the beach before he could touch them.

I miss you, your voice screamed inside, I can’t fix you.

You looked down at your hands, nervous even out of reality, watching the blue flames spread over your skin, unable to feel its scorch. It should’ve burned you, burned him, but it willed to your call and demand like a piece of you.

“I think I’m broken,” you spoke instead, voice distant and chopped, like you were speaking under the tide.

“Oh, sweet thing,” he cooed in a clear voice, hands on your waist squeezing slightly, “You don’t need fixin’. My baby can heal herself just fine.”

You sat up quickly, breath caught in your throat as you tried to calm down. Pulling the papers off your face, you gasped, unable to catch a breath. Friday’s voice was distorted through the haze, her questions becoming almost humanly frantic as she tried to get your attention. Unable to do so, she called in Pepper who ran immediately to you from her floor.

She was dressed in her pajamas, causing you more confusion as you tried to find something to focus on. Her hands pressed against your face, moving your jaw so your eyes made contact with hers, placing your hand against her chest. You tried to mimic her breathing, matching breaths as you finally calmed down.

“What the hell happened?” She asked, checking your forehead and glancing at you for injuries.

You ignored her, focused on the last sentence in the dream, standing up quickly and walking to the screen against the wall.

“Friday, pull up Sergeant Barnes’ latest brain scan and his first brain scan on record after 1950,“ You said.

Pepper watched in confusion and fascination as you worked, cross examining files over the years, Hydra and SHIELD alike. You compared everything you could, before finally coming to your conclusion.

“I know how to fix him,” you whispered, turning toward Pepper quickly, “I know how to fix him! I need to get to Wakanda.”

“Sweetheart, it’s 3 in the morning. I’ll have the jet ready for you by 9.”

“No, Pepper, please. I have to go now, right now. Don’t ask me why, I just do. Please, Pep. I’ll go alone, I don’t mind. Really, I’m begging you.”

“Alright, alright. Don’t do that, there’s no need. Friday, please prepare the jet for immediate departure and let T'Challa know of the trip.”

“Of course, Ms. Potts.”

You hugged her quickly, tears in your eyes as you ran to pack a bag and get dressed. This was terrifying, astounding. You were so scared of being wrong, but knew in your heart that you were right. Nerves filled your gut as you thought about seeing Bucky again, even in such a vulnerable state. Running quickly to the bay, you boarded the jet as it was being fueled, Friday giving you a quick rundown of the flight plan. Your leg bounced up and down as you waited for take off, sighing out when you were finally on your way.

It was a too long flight, in your opinion, and your body was moving rapidly from pent up energy and pure adrenaline. You couldn’t sleep, you couldn’t eat, this entire situation consuming you and your thoughts until your body knew everything was okay.

This was the right thing, you told yourself, he’ll definitely want to see you.

You landed around 10, EAT, and a certain king was waiting for you in the landing bay, hands clasped behind his back. He stood tall, like a man filled with such pride and conviction for his country it put you in awe. Shaking your head at yourself, you tapped the button to open the doors, easing your way out quickly.

“To who does my nation owe the pleasure of seeing today?” He asked quickly, a no-nonsense look about his face that would send the strongest of guards running away. The look sent threat signals down your spine, but you knew he would do you no harm.

You told him your name, bowing slightly in respect before standing, “I believe I have the cure for Barnes’ recovery.”

His eyebrow twitched slightly, “And how do you know that he is here, in my jurisdiction?”

“I work for Tony Stark,” you started, “And I am Bucky’s… something. I assume lover, but it seems too little and almost too much. Either way, Stark hired me to find a cure, and here I am.”

He nodded once, holding his hand, palm up, for you to grasp. Shaking it lightly, he smiled softly at you, the look making him a million times younger than he seemed before. It was astounding, how well he was handling the death of his father and the abrupt promotion to king so gracefully, and so young.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” You whispered to him, squeezing his palm slightly. His eyes softened, nodding once before letting you go.

“You create a tether,” he said, “Between these men. Do not let that go to waste.”

Nodding seriously, you followed the guide pointing towards the south wing of the palace. If that’s even what it was. It was astounding, the most advanced technology you’d ever seen. Your mind was in awe before you head a voice coming from the room down the hall, walking briskly toward it.

“I think going back under is the best thing, for everybody.” Bucky said, looking up at Steve. You walked completely into the room, your shoes tapping against the vinyl floors.

“I don’t think so,” you said, walking toward the computers along his bedside.

His eyes flicker to yours quickly, shocked at your presence and your ability to catch him off guard. He beckons you closer with his right arm, before the guards by him swoop in, grabbing your own two arms and pinning them behind your back. You gasped at the surprise before turning to the woman on your right.

“You work for Tony Stark,” one of them said, accusingly.

You shook your head in affirmation, “Yes, I do. The king knows I’m here.”

Neither one of them moved to release you, “Will you get your hands off of me? I’m not a damn spy.”

Bucky smiles at you, amused, as Steve shakes his head lightly. The women holding you look toward the guide who you left behind in your haste to get here, nodding once before letting go. Steve was looking at you oddly, observing your every move. It was weird, being in the same room as Captain America. You knew about his and Bucky’s past, that was never in question, but seeing the man in the flesh threw your head through a loop. You were unable to focus on that however, as Bucky spoke again and your eyes and heart focuses solely on him.

“Come here,” Bucky says, making grabby fingers at you. You smiled slightly, walking towards him quickly before burrowing yourself against his chest.

“You work for Tony now?” Bucky asked, slightly worried as his arm wrapped around your waist, his head nuzzling your arm affectionately as you stared at everyone in the room.

“Yeah, I wrote him a letter,” he laughed softly into your shoulder as you continued, “I told him who I was, and he gave me access to his labs to help you.”

“You can help him?” Steve asked, trying not to look hopeful.

“Of course,” you said, turning toward the doctors in the room. “Bucky is essentially repairing himself, as you can tell by the amount of memory gained since his last stay in cryogenics or since the last of the electroshock treatments by Hydra. Ideally, his brain is fixing itself by him surrounding himself by relatively positive things. Going back under the ice will prolong his recovery time by nearly three, since he’ll have no access to stimulation in the box. It’s obviously an intense case of amnesia, and what do doctors tell normal patients with cases of it? They send them home with people they feel safe with if the patient is capable, using their presence as an essential trigger for regeneration”

A doctor from the back spoke, “That’s almost too easy.”

You nodded, “I completely understand, I felt the same way until getting the scans next to each other, it’s quite obvious when you look at it side by side. I almost didn’t want to believe it.”

A nurse spoke then, “So we just need to treat him like a normal amnesia patient, no cryogenics for containment?”

“Yes!” You exclaimed, getting a bit excited, “He needs outside interaction like familiar faces, objects, music, photos, even writing things down like he had been doing in his journals and in our letters.”

“That makes sense,” Steve begins, “He had more memories than I thought when Sam and I found him in the apartment.”

“Exactly,” you smiled at him, “He’s going to be okay long-term if we treat this like a normal case of memory loss, but with an extensive look at the malnourishment he’s suffered. Hydra didn’t keep him on an IV with little to no real micronutrients just for fun, it had a purpose.”

You looked at Bucky sadly, watching him as he frowned. Hand reaching up, you brushed his hair out of his face, pressing a kiss to his temple. His eyes found yours, smiling softly.

“He needs to stay hydrated, possibly with altered b12 shots periodically that will work with the serum. Also his vitamin and mineral levels need to be monitored and treated until they are back to normal,” you directed towards Steve before looked up, making eye contact with one of the lab technicians, “You’ll probably need to see his dietary reference intakes, specifically the AMDRs available for supersoldiers.”

“Makes sense.” They said, turning toward the tablet in front of them.

“But why?” Steve questions again, his head tilted curiously.

“It’s simple nutrigenomics, if we figure out the correlation between his altered genetics, the environment changes, and how to fix his nutritional intake, he’ll become healthier on a molecular level and his brain cells will begin to repair and regrow. It’s more than his brain we have to look at, it’s seven of eleven of his systems, possibly more or less.”

“What about the words?” Bucky asks, looking innocent and confused. It was such a contrast to the way he normally carried himself, so big and bad, it made your heart crack a bit in response.

“The words were programed into a certain part of your brain, not the entire thing, so if we work to make that specific section healthy again, it will rebuild and flush out the trigger words.”

“And if it don’t?”

You grabbed his face, hands placed on either side of his jaw, forcing him to look at you as you spoke, “Then we will deprogram you, or we will remove that section of your brain if it’s expendable. You will not be used without your consent again, do you hear me? You are a man, with a soul and a heart, not a cold and dead weapon. They will fix this, no matter the cost.”

One of the doctors cleared their throats behind you, your head whipping around to face them, “We’ll give you a moment while we go retrieve the files you asked about.”

You nodded, turning back toward Bucky, who was already watching you, “What?”

“You’re phenomenal,” he whispered, leaning up to nuzzling his nose against yours.

You giggled, nuzzling right back, “I’m just a fool in love, honestly.”

“I’m so glad you’re here,” he whispered, “I knew you were somethin’ special.”

After the doctors left, finally finished poking and prodding Bucky to your advice and supervision, you both returned to his temporary room in the kingdom. It was large and luxurious, but you paid it no mind as you pressed innocent kisses to his chest, his scars, anything you could reach. His chest hair tickled against your cheek as he returned your love, pressing adoringly against you, murmured words of love whispered into the crown of your head.

It was long overdue, your heartfelt and dramatic reunion cementing the love between you both like the letters never could. It was different, you supposed, holding him in your arms instead of crinkled papers trapped against your chest. Your heart was so full it was nearly bursting, a new and exciting feeling for you.

Beyond that, however, was the inevitable. As he held you in his arms, you both could see it. The thunderclouds of incoming doom and the downfall of torrential disadvantages coming your way, looming over your shoulders as it waited to creep up on you at the least expected time. It was unstoppable, you figured, choosing to ignore it. You could both deal when the time came, when the nations banded together to bring Bucky to his knees once more.

For now, though, you pressed a final kiss to his chest, right above his heart, and dreamed of a future undeterred.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come talk to me [on my tumblr](alongwinter.tumblr.com)!!


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